Celine's Conversion

Celine felt an indescribable relief, even though she knew her lover would suffer terribly -- at least she would be spared.

The scaffold and whipping-post were permanent fixtures, so all the bailiffs had to do was lead the still-proud Cecile up the wooden steps to the platform, where she stood impassively while the biggest of the men tore off her flimsy cotton dress, leaving her quite naked in full view of the big crowd. When Celine looked over them, she saw that many of the men, as they had when she herself had been in Cecile's position, were masturbating surreptitiously under their robes, and a cry went up, as Cecile's wrists were tied and her arms stretched high above her head: 'Whip the bitch!' and 'Make the blood run!'

The same big man was handed a horrid-looking leather whip by his henchman, and, without ceremony, stepped back, and sent the awful lash snaking out expertly to wrap itself around Cecile's narrow waist.

Now all the big crowd's attention had switched from the smouldering, charred corpses of the two unfortunate girls, still hanging from their blackened stakes. They were all lasciviously intent on the fate of Cecile, as the whip fell, apparently at random, between her knees and her shoulder-blades. The brunette scarcely flinched as the cruel lash bit into her soft pale flesh again and again, leaving livid red welts all too visible to Celine, who stared in horrible fascination, living again the vicious sting of the curling leather thong, the baying of the crowd, and the feeling of something more -- a sort of superiority, that came from the endurance of the punishment. Suddenly she knew that Cecile shared that feeling, that they were, indeed, soul-mates, as well as lovers, and she knew then, with complete certainty, that nothing could part them.

After what seemed like a thousand lashes, Cecile was eventually released, and merely shoved carelessly down the wooden steps to be left to the crowd's dubious mercy.

Celine rushed to protect her, fighting off clawing hands from both sides as she ushered her through the milling throng, and took her to her house.

Once there, Cecile surprised Celine by managing a smile.

'Doesn't it hurt?' asked Celine, touching tenderly the brunette's wounded back.

'Of course,' replied Cecile, 'but all the time I was being whipped, I tried to imagine it was you who was whipping me, and not those bastards!'

'Oh, darling!' gasped Celine, but was lost for further words to say.

She spent an hour or more soothing the girl's welts with a balm she had, ironically, bought from Brigitte, the second girl to be burned at the stake that morning. Then they simply lay together, Celine gently fingering Cecile's moist cunt, until she brought her slowly but surely to the shuddering, squirming release of the orgasm she needed.

'After dark, we'll go away together,' said Celine, 'I've heard of a sunny land far away over the mountains, where women like us can live in peace.'

'Oh, Celine, I love you so,' replied Cecile.